


Boredom vs Law of Surprise

by Foodmoon



Series: Oddball fics [32]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Do not share for profit, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Geralt's a troll, Jaskier doesn't age because Destiny said so, Law Of Surprise, So is Destiny, i didn't intend to write this, no other reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodmoon/pseuds/Foodmoon
Summary: Geralt is bored. Destiny is determined to remedy this.Jaskier thinks he's just an innocent bystander who gets ignored and picked on a lot, but he's wrong.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Oddball fics [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/938265
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175





	Boredom vs Law of Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SectorDweller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SectorDweller/gifts).



> My only familiarity with the fandom is having read through several hundred Geralt/Jaskier tag fics in a very short amount of time.

Geralt would never admit it, but being a Witcher is boring. Not so much the killing monsters _(or rescuing them as the case may be)_ , because there’s no time for boredom while fighting for one’s life, but the monotony of travel and exchange of coins and the mercurial hatred humans hold for his kind. As such, when he’s not in particular _need_ of coin, he enjoys claiming the Law of Surprise. It’s brought him some interesting things over the years.

A maiden pregnant out of wedlock, whom he’d promptly traded to her beau for a new set of armor. Odd trinkets. A couple of times the replacement Roach of the time _(horses were sadly not immortal or invulnerable to monsters)_. Time with whores, which he doesn’t have to pay for. Room and board for a short while that he doesn’t have to pay for. He even owns a few small parcels of land, scattered through different kingdoms, from nobles to whom the loss made no difference. They make good places to hole up when he needs a break from humanity and monsters or when a winter is particularly foul. Being a Witcher exempts him from being anyone’s subject, which makes ownership a little questionable on a bad day, but he _does_ hold the deed titles and they’re no more than a well off peasant might manage to own, at best. Sometimes the payment is utterly worthless, of course. What is he going to do with a chest full of a youth’s clothes? Trying to sell them would only get him accused of murder. So they sit unused, protected by spells, in one of his more remote cottages. A truly terrible tome of erotic poetry. An entire set of books on manners and mores for young noble ladies. Eggshells from wild birds that were once a child’s treasured collection. And so on and so forth.

The first time he meets Jaskier has nothing to do with the Law of Surprise, only with the bard’s incurable curiosity and persistence. Finally he manages to part with him and thinks he’s shed of the man. Except he isn’t.

The second time he encounters Jaskier, he’s just helped a brothel dispose of a downright _disturbing_ former customer and really only wants a room for the night and some willing company. The former has been guaranteed and he assumes the latter will be what he receives when he claims the Law of Surprise. At least until an angry whore drags the squawking bard in by his ear to inform the Madame that he has no money to pay for the time he just used. Jaskier is clutching his precious lute in with one arm and holding up his purse in his other hand, showing off the slit in the bottom and protesting that he’d had _no idea_ that he’d been robbed. Geralt stares at him, and then just sighs when the Madame offers Jaskier in payment. “Fuck.”

The Madame beams, obviously understanding that the problem and the debt have _both_ been taken off her hands.

Jaskier looks insulted and rambles nonstop as Geralt pulls him into the room he’s been given for the night.

He growls, “Jaskier, shut up and sleep. On the floor. Unless you _want_ to replace the services of a whore that your idiocy cheated me out of?”

The bard _eeps_ and settles down on the floor, eyeing him warily. “Can I have a blanket?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and tosses a pillow and blanket in his face. Fussy songbird.

Eventually they part ways again.

The third time he meets Jaskier, a nobleman’s daughter is caught sleeping with him and the noble is practically frothing at the mouth in anger as he shoves the bard at Geralt. “Here. Use him as a whore or sell him or kill him for all I care. You should have him gelded so he keeps his cock to himself!”

“Hmmn. An interesting prospect.” Geralt agrees and is pleased with the bard’s resultant speechlessness for the next hour.

“Geralt…? Geralt, you’re not really going to…?” Jaskier asks tentatively. Then when he doesn’t reply, in a more alarmed tone, “Geralt!?”

“Hmmn.” He replies, mostly to see the bard puff up like an indignant bird and see where his rant takes him. If nothing else, the songbird’s over the top reactions to everything are entertaining.

By the time Geralt tells Jaskier to fuck off in a fit of temper on the mountain, he’s received the bard as payment _five separate times_. And he knows Jaskier isn’t actually aware that Geralt hasn’t been deliberately rescuing him from the ludicrous situations he routinely gets himself into. Because Geralt certainly has no intention of admitting to claiming the Law of Surprise on a semi-regular basis. The whimsy of it doesn’t fit his reputation, even the prettied up version Jaskier has managed to spread around with his ridiculous songs.

Ciri is… A definite complication in his life. His accidental claiming of her being far too public and high profile to brush off or negotiate a different payment for. So now he has a dangerous Queen more than a little irritated at him, and he’s promised to leave the little princess to her family unless tragedy strikes. _(The way his life goes, it’s highly probable that tragedy will strike before she’s a year old and he’ll be stuck raising a baby. So he counts the days and, well, he doesn’t pray, but he hopes every morn that he won’t hear the bad news that’s sure to come along eventually.)_

Time passes.

Time in which he definitely _avoids_ claiming the Law of Surprise, a sort of spiteful stand against Destiny that does nothing other than net him boring routine. Kill monster, be hated, be paid _(or not paid, depending on how assholish his current ‘employer’ is),_ move on to the next place.

Then Cintra falls and he dives into the middle of a war to find Ciri. And because people can’t be trusted, he finds the girl masquerading as a street orphan by sheer chance. They move north, staying ahead of Nilfgaard’s soldiers when they can, killing them when they can’t.

Maybe that chest of clothes and that appalling thorough set of books on noble social behavior in the various kingdoms will come in handy after all. There’s at least three books for every country and four or five for several of them, two full volumes _(representing different kingdoms)_ of which are on the use of embroidery as a social weapon. Both the kind that is worn and the delicate embroideries on scarves and kerchiefs and gloves that noblewomen are expected to do.

Geralt _may_ have had fingerless gloves with embroidery stating that he’s a Witcher who will accept nothing less than being paid in full without extreme violence to rectify the matter on his part, made up to wear for when he takes contracts in those countries. It’s _remarkably_ effective on the nobles and nearly as effective on the peasants, many of whom make a point of at least knowing the basics of embroidery language as a point of pride. He hardly ever has trouble getting paid in those countries. _(What? It was a long, extremely nasty winter trapped inside and he was hardly going to turn down a source of information on ways to get paid more reliably.)_ Or more specifically, the embroidered symbols state: _Monster hunter. Pay in full. Or die brutally. As honorless scum_. A bit crude, but to the point and guaranteed to sting the pride of any who understood them. The looks of shock and horror when they realize that a _Witcher_ can read and use their precious embroidery languages are a nice bonus all on its own.

Ciri’s out of control magic means they start hunting for word of Yennefer, who at least wants a child badly enough that he can trust her to train Ciri without betraying her for some Nilfgaardian bribe. But in the meantime they still need to eat and buy supplies. He takes a job clearing out a nest of bandits for a small town, and when they look like the idea of parting with the promised coin physically pains them, he claims Law of Surprise for the first time in _years_ , drawing a startled look from Ciri.

The local alderman brightens noticeably. “We didn’t think Witchers took anything but coin, but we have a bard in prison for debts if you’re interested in music.”

Geralt does _not_ twitch, but only because he has superior control over his reactions. “Is his name Jaskier?”

“It is.” The alderman blinks in surprise a few times. “Do you kno-? Oh, wait. Is he _your_ bard?”

“Fuck.” He sighs deeply.

Ciri giggles. “That means he’ll take him.”

He shoots her a sour look but doesn’t disagree. After all, it’s the truth. The singing wildflower will be good for his little lion cub.

Jaskier looks warily hopeful when he sees him. “Geralt?”

The Witcher looks him up and down disparagingly, then huffs. Geralt doesn’t bow to Destiny, but he can admit that maybe _this time_ it has something of a point. Jaskier is many things, but boring is not one of them. “I suppose since this is the _sixth time_ Destiny has dumped you in my lap, I may as well make use of you.”

 _‘Sixth time’_ Jaskier mouths, expression questioning, but then his gaze lights on Ciri and recognition and understanding cross his face. “Oh, yes. I can see...that. But what do you mean ‘Destiny’? I thought you didn’t believe in Destiny.”

Like he’s going to answer that? “Hmmn.”

“Fine, be that way, but I _will_ get an answer out of you.” Jaskier promises, sidling out of the cell as soon as the alderman unlocks it with barely a glance at the man, clutching his lute to his chest protectively.

Ciri manages to wait until they make it out of town before she bursts into giggles. “Have you _really_ gotten him from the Law of Surprise _six_ times, Geralt!?”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide.

“Hmmn.” He agrees, resigned to the girl’s amusement. The cat might be out of the bag now, but at least he can hold it over Jaskier’s head for a very long time. And if that ceases to work, he can distract the younger man by tossing that horrendous, centuries out of date, limited-edition tome of erotic poetry at his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Predictably, Jaskier will be very distracted by the rather rare book when it's finally thrown at him. And Geralt will be 100% unsurprised when he makes songs from the poems.
> 
> Jaskier will only get his apology when he puppy eyes it out of Geralt.


End file.
